The Day Dad Left
by bammi1
Summary: Events leading up to the day Bobby's dad left


My interpretation of some of the events leading up to and including the actual day

The character of Bobby Goren and his family do not belong to me

The Day Dad Left

Bobby Goren walked home slowly from school. He was in trouble again, this time for questioning his religion. Not a good thing to do in a Catholic school. But Bobby was an exceptionally bright eleven-year-old, and questioning his teachers on almost any subject seemed almost routine for him. What really made the teachers mad was that most of the time his questions and theories made sense. Despite his obvious intelligence, or maybe _because_ of it, he seemed to get in much more trouble than most of the other kids. After having his knuckles severely rapped with the metal edge of a ruler and being made to kneel all afternoon in Father D'Amico's office he now had to go home and face his parents.

Bobby was in no hurry to get home. Like most kids in the early seventies and especially those in Catholic school (where there were no rules on corporal punishment and was, in fact, encouraged) after a stiff punishment at school, they were likely to get it even worse at home. Bobby was no exception. But his situation was somewhat unique. Both his parents went way beyond unpredictable. His mother was schizophrenic, and his father was a womanizing gambler with a drinking problem. Chaos reigned in their home.

The thing with Mom was the fact that her illness was so unpredictable. One day she 'd be fine, a regular normal Mom; the next, she was crazy, literally. Bobby's feelings concerning his mother ran the gamut between love, fear and shame. His love for her went without saying. When she wasn't sick, she was a great Mom, a librarian who instilled in him a great love of reading, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and a never-ending sense of curiosity.

Bobby's fear of his Mom started about the age of 6 or so. There were times when he was really frightened and didn't understand. Like the time when he was on the floor playing with his army men. Suddenly Mom was there, screaming at him, that his army men were evil and how they were making Bobby evil, too. She took his army men and threw them all in the trash, making him cry; they were his favorite toys. Then she made him kneel by his bed and pray his special prayer. "Infant Jesus, meek and mild, please make me a good little child" over and over, till she was satisfied he was no longer evil. Incidents like this started occurring more frequently. Bobby never felt safe. He never knew what or when something would set her off, or why. But Bobby, being a very bright and intuitive child, started learning how to deal with her a little, how to play along, and develop a rapport with her. That is, when he wasn't scared to death. These little coping methods could only do so much, but every little bit helped.

One of the sadder aspects of Mom's illness was the shame involved, for all members of the family. Bobby was sometimes ridiculed because of it, and all too often rejected by the other kids, and sometimes their parents, who taunted him and mocked his mother. Bobby got his butt kicked more than a few times defending her, but managed to kick butt just as much in return. But if the truth were known, Bobby himself was ashamed of his mother, which shamed him even more.

Dad was a whole different story, and his relationship with his father was unusual. There were times when it was great. Or at least it used to be. Some of Bobby's best times were early on with his Dad, going everywhere with him, Yankee games (his favorite), the occasional jaunt to the beach, even accompanying him to his bookie (something Mom knew nothing about). Going _anywhere_ with his Dad was great. But those times were few and far between, even back then, and now Dad didn't seem to have any time for or interest in him at all. But Bobby couldn't let go. He craved attention from his Dad, and would do anything to get it, including getting himself in trouble. That might get his Dad's attention. It also might get him a beating with a belt, or slapped around some, depending on whether or not Dad was drinking. And although he did not relish the thought of getting hit, the way Bobby figured, _any_ attention was better than no attention at all. Besides, Bobby knew it was just a matter of time before things went back to the way they used to be.

Upon arriving home Bobby was met at the front door by his older brother Joey, sitting on the front step. Dad took a little more interest in Joey; he was the first-born, and seemed to stay on him a lot more. Bobby was jealous of this.

"Dad's leaving," Joey announced unemotionally. He didn't have a lot of use for his father, and usually avoided him. Joey's plan was to leave as soon as possible, join the service as soon as his parents would sign for him, which wouldn't be long.

"So?" Bobby asked. No big deal; it just meant a slight delay in his punishment, a possible beating from Dad, or disapproval and a look of disappointment from Mom, if she was "okay". He attempted to get around his brother and into the house, but Joey blocked his way.

"I **said, **Dad's leaving". Getting no response from Bobby, he continued. "Dad's leaving. He's leaving Mom. He's leaving **us**! Good riddance," he added for Bobby's benefit.

"Shut up!" Bobby said angrily, pushing past his brother into the house. He hated it when Joey talked about their Dad like that. He didn't believe him anyway, at least not until it hit him smack in the face. But there on the floor was the evidence: a single bulging suitcase and a few boxes of varying sizes containing his Dad's few meager possessions.

Bobby could hear them arguing, his Dad was yelling "I gotta get out of this madhouse before you all drive **me** fucking crazy too! You're **all** crazy!"

Maria, Bobby's mother, was resigned to the fact that she had an illness, but it hurt her that Joe would put that on his sons, too. "Please don't say that, Joe—"

"What? That you're all crazy?" Joe sneered. "Hell, Joey's already just like you. And Bobby, who knows what the hell his problem is! If I don't get out of here now—"

"Dad?" Bobby interrupted.

Joe turned around to look at the boy who worshipped him, his son, and felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. He knew Joey was leaving at the first opportunity, so he'd technically be leaving Bobby, who'd just turned eleven, in the care of (_and to care for_) a schizophrenic mother. This was going to be very hard on Bobby. But it didn't change Joe's mind. He was leaving. "Look Bobby, I know this is rough. But… it's gotta be this way."

Bobby couldn't believe it. "No, Dad! Why? Why can't you stay with us!"

Joe sighed, Bobby was always a problem. "I'm going, Bobby. You know why. I can't take it here anymore. And that's it." He picked up one of the boxes and headed to the door. But Bobby, quick as a cat, got to the door first, blocking his way.

"Move!" Joe commanded him.

Despite being quite smaller than his Dad (he hadn't had that growth spurt yet), Bobby held his ground. "No, Dad! I'm not letting you go!" He was very emotional, and dug in.

"Bobby—"

"No, Dad, please! I love you! Please don't go! I won't get in trouble anymore, I promise! Please don't go!"

Joe took Bobby by the shoulders and physically dragged him from the door, but Bobby was back again in a split second. "I'm not gonna let you go—" Now Bobby was crying and hysterical.

"Don't make this any harder than it already is." Joe said impatiently, then turned to Maria. "Do something…before I do."

Maria, hoping to spare Bobby from whatever Joe would do, hurried over to her son, putting her arms around him, trying to lead him away. "C'mon, Bobby—" Bobby jerked away from her and with mournful eyes stood and watched despondently as his father finished loading up his car and left, with not so much as a backward glance. Bobby was shattered. The tears streamed down his face.

Again Maria tried to comfort him, but Bobby would have none of it. Suddenly Bobby was very angry, and turned to his mother. "I hate you!" he shouted, still crying, extremely upset. He backed his way to the door. "You're crazy! That's why Dad left! 'Cause you're crazy! I hate you!"

Then he ran out the door, leaving his mother stunned and hurt.

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It was much later, nearly night, when Bobby returned. He was overcome with all kinds of emotions, the foremost being sorrow and shame. Shame that his father cared so little for them, and shame that he, Bobby, had treated his mother so badly.

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

Bobby walked up slowly to his mother, head down, feeling very ashamed.

"Mom?"

Maria looked up at her son.

"Mom…I'm sorry, Mom. I **do** love you", Bobby whispered.

"I know you do, Bobby" she told him. And this time, when she tried to hug him, he allowed her, and hugged her back.

What Bobby didn't tell his mother was that as much as he loved her, and he truly did, he would always blame her for his father leaving.

Later that night, lying in his bed, Bobby thought, over and over, of the events of the day. He was inconsolable. He still couldn't accept the fact that his father didn't love him, that he found Bobby so unlovable that he would just leave and abandon him without a second thought. In the saddest little voice ever, he whispered "he's never coming back" and turned over so the pillow would absorb his tears.

Life as Bobby knew it would never be the same.


End file.
